The Escape Plan
by jeanie2914
Summary: Escape is always an option and Neal likes to keep his options open. When the perfect chance to do just that arises, will he take it?
1. Chapter 1

_This hasn't been a breeze to write. In fact, this is the third revision and I am still not sure it clicks the way I wanted it to. However, I want it off my computer so I can move onto another story. Have mercy and be kind._

_Of course, I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility._

**The Escape Plan Chapter One **

"Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Caffrey."

"That has not always proven to be a good thing," Neal said easily, unable to keep a smile from his lips. He made himself comfortable, stretching out on the luxurious sofa. The room was more that nice; Money was apparently not a problem for Don Teagan. "What aspect of my rather extensive reputation are you referring to?"

Keagan stepped over to the bar and poured himself a drink. "There was an incident in a Villa outside Rome a few years ago," Teagan began "involving a Onity Electronic Locking System." He held up a glass in offer to Neal, who declined with a shake of his head. "Quite an impressive accomplishment."

"For someone, I agree; those are quite challenging systems, " Neal said. "What does that have to do with me?"

Teagan chuckled "Modesty was not one of the traits that I was told you possessed." Teagan, drink in hand, returned to his place in the chair across from Neal. There was a glimmer of amusement in his green eyes. "I know you broke that system, Mr. Caffrey, and absconded from the Villa with some very valuable art."

"And are you interested in my art collection or my rumored experience with the Onity System?"

"The latter," Teagan answered. "That exact system-right down to the dashes and zeros- is protecting a small office complex right here in New York."

"Not surprising, in fact I am sure the system is protecting dozens of complexes in the city. The company has been around since 1941 and has over a million customers worldwide." Neal sounded like a salesman selling a product, and smiled like one, too. "They offer discreet delivery and expert installation."

"So I have been told," Teagan answered. "But what _was _surprising was to learn that one of the few people in the world to have successfully cracked this system was also right here in New York. Quite a fortuitous discovery, since my associates and I require assistance to access said complex."

"So you need me to get you into a building protected by an Onity Locking System?" Neal raised his eyebrows, "And the compensation for my efforts? The original reference was rather vague," He held up the card, "My hearts desire?" Neal's voice was sarcastic, "How does that translate into dollars and cents exactly? My heart _desires_ quite a lot."

"I can offer you one million dollars," He began, "and since I am aware of your current, _tethered_ situation with the FBI, your hearts desire is a new identity and a ticket to a place with no extradition. How does sound to you, Mr. Caffrey?"

"Sounds too good to refuse," Neal answered, clearly impressed with the offer. Money was always nice but the other perks, though unexpected, were very inciting.

"Good, Mr. Caffrey," Teagan breathed what sounded like a sigh of relief. "Accepting my offer is a wise choice. My associates had a different plan in mind, but I convinced them that hiring you for this endeavor is a better option than the one they originally crafted. But if you had declined my offer, I am afraid their original plan for you would have come into play."

"I take it that would not have been a good thing?" Neal asked.

"No, their plan was to force your assistance, and then put a bullet in your brain for your troubles."

"Then I definitely chose wisely."

"Very wisely indeed." Teagan stood up. "It is now time for us to depart."

"I will need a little time," Neal said, not expecting an instant departure. "I need to work out a couple things…Pick up a few things, get a few things _removed_…"

"Sorry, part of my convincing my partners to let me make you this offer is that you come back with me now." He motioned for Neal to join him. "We will take care of all your needs from this point on."

Neal stood up, tugged at his pants leg, revealing the anklet. "Sorry_, tethered_, remember?" He dropped his pants leg. "I _need_ to get Agent Burke to let me out of the anklet," He shrugged, "I have managed it before, but it might take a day or two. Then I am all yours."

"You are all mine, now, Mr. Caffrey," he insisted, "and I can take care of that." He motioned to one of the men who were hovering by the door. He stepped forward producing a pair of shears.

"Snip, snip," Teagan said.

"It's not that simple," Neal warned, "believe me."

"Why not?" he asked, "They are quite sharp and up to the task."

"I am sure they are," Neal said. "It isn't the actual cutting of the anklet that presents the problem. It what happens immediately afterwards that you have to worry about."

Teagan raised his eyebrows "Do tell."

"My tracker is monitored 24/7. If the anklet is cut the NYPD will be on us in less than ten minutes, with a perimeter established three blocks out faster than that. They will have the feed from every CCTV in this hotel and everywhere else; they will track me down." He shook his head, "Like vultures, Burke and the Marshal's are ready to swoop down at a moments notice to pick the flesh off my carcass. That's why my way is better; get Burke to remove it."

"Not going to happen," Teagan said, "you're not getting out of my sight until this job is completed. But not to worry, we just need to be sure that your _carcass _is not here to be swooped down upon and I have that covered, Mr. Caffrey. I have a route of fast escape." The whir of the helicopter was heard. Teagan smiled at Neal's expression.

"This hotel has a helipad," Neal said obviously impressed. "No perimeters or CCTV in the air. Nice."

"Exactly," Teagan smiled, "You ready?'

"One million dollars, a new identify and a ticket out of the country?" Neal asked with a lift in his voice that could only be excitement. "I was born ready." Neal reached down and pulled at his pants leg, exposing the anklet again, and looked up with a smile that was sudden and bright.

"And by all means, _snip snip_."


	2. Chapter 2

_This is a short chapter. I have tried to keep chapters generally the same length but it hasn't worked with this story. Due to my schedule this week, I will try to post chapters about every other day. Thanks for reading and of course, I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility._

**Chapter Two **

_Pick the flesh off his carcass?_ Peter winced at the visual picture that analogy produced, and Diana and Jones exchanged smiles. Since Neal Caffrey had joined the team, the time in the van was much more entertaining.  
Entertaining for them; sometimes more stressful for their boss.

_Teagan: Well, then, we just need to be sure that your carcass is not here to be swooped down upon and I have that covered, Mr. Caffrey. I have a route of fast escape._

_The whir of the helicopter was heard._

"Damn," Peter swore in the van. You couldn't tail a helicopter.

_Neal: This hotel has a helipad. No perimeters or CCTV in the air. Nice. _

_Teagan: Exactly, You ready?_

_Neal: One million dollars, a new identify and a ticket out of the country? I was born ready. (pause) And by all means, snip snip. _

Peter could practically hear Neal's smile through the wire.

When Neal had entered his office that morning, sitting down in chair, he did not do so with his usual ease. His greeting smile was bright but Peter could always tell when something was off with Neal. And this morning something was off.

"What is it, Neal?" He felt like a parent responding to the principal, calling yet again to say that his child had, yet again, gotten into trouble. Resigned for the bad news.

Neal seemed hesitant, as if uncertain as to how to proceed. Uncertainty was not a usual expression on the young man's face and that got Peter's undivided attention. "What's wrong?"

"I had a conversation yesterday afternoon with a couple of," Neal paused, remembering the encounter, "rather, large persuasive gentlemen." His hand went to his ribs instinctively. "They had an interesting message to deliver." Peter had followed the movement and raised his eyebrows in question.

"And did that message include bruised ribs?" he asked, "Your past coming back to haunt you?"

Neal winced slightly, "Yes to the first question but to the other, I have never seen these men before in my life."

"But they were only delivery boys, how about the person who sent them?"

"I have never worked with Don Teagan, either," Neal paused.

"But?" Peter asked. Neal looked uncomfortable.

"He wants me to do something for him."

"Ah," Peter said, feeling justified. Neal's past _was_ coming back to haunt him. "Your reputation has preceded you, I see."

"Apparently," Neal said. He took out a card and handed it to Peter. It was crafted from some type of special paper; thick and textured, exuding expense and elegance. It was embossed with a heart; it looked almost romantic. Peter glanced at Neal with a mirthful look, and opened it.

_" I require your assistance in a private matter._

_In return, I offer your hearts desire"_

_dTe_

"Cryptic. Someone offers your heart's desire and you bring it to me?" Peter's surprise was half feigned; but half not. He _was_ surprised.

Neal's tone was one of injury. "I am trying to do the right thing, to earn your trust," but there was a glimmer of mischief in his blue eyes, "plus, after they delivered the message they beat the crap out of me," his hand again to his sore ribs, "They didn't seem to like me very much. That didn't exactly inspire me with confidence."

"And if they had inspired you with confidence?" Peter asked, eyebrows raised, "Would you be sitting here telling me about it?

Neal smiled. "Guess we'll never know," was his answer.

It didn't take long to get the details on the man who needed Neal's assistance. Donald Edward Teagan was rarely a visitor in New York; rarely a visitor in the States at all. He was well known in Europe, however.

"The two of you seem to share some of the same fan clubs," Peter was going over information on Teagan, "Interpol, Europol, the Douane in France, Guardia di Finanza, even the Algerian Sûreté Nationale is watching him."

"You flatter me," Neal said easily, "But I don't think I was ever on a list as a person of interest on the continent of Africa."

"Ah, but you became a person of interest on _my_ continent; and got on _my_ list."

"Yeah, and look how that turned out," Neal said wryly, moving his left foot.

"That's my point," Peter said with a smile, "once you get on _my _list, you get caught."

"And now Teagan is on that list." Neal paused, then continued, "He knows about my arrangement with the FBI, too," Neal added. "That's why his hotel is within my radius. That detail was mentioned when they were punching me, encouraging me to keep this invite to myself."

"He knows you work for the FBI and still offered you employment?"

"What can I say," Neal answered easily, "I guess I have mad skills."

"Any idea what he wants you to do?" Peter asked, looked again at the vague message on the card. With Neal it could be anything. The man was a criminal wonder.

"No idea," Neal said honestly, looking at his watch. "But I guess I will find out soon enough since I meet with the man in an hour."

"Let's trade," Peter said, handing Neal the watch that had a transmitter and GPS tracker in it. Neal had worn it many times. Neal removed his watch and replaced it with the FBI issue one. "This way we hear everything. If anything feels off, use the _phrase "Its been a pleasure doing business with you"_ and we will move in." Peter looked at Neal, still somewhat surprised that he had told him about the offer in the first place. The hesitancy in which he had done so told him that Neal had at least debated keeping it to himself.

"So, you ready to go accept _your heart desire?"_

"What is it they say?" Neal smiled amicably, "I was born ready."


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to all you who are following the story and especially thanks for the reviews. They make my day and make my work days much more pleasant. Next Chapter will post on Wednesday. _

_Of course, I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility._

**Chapter Three **

There was nothing to be done once the helicopter had left the rooftop.

"We can track him boss" Jones told him "but we are going to be deaf as soon as he is out of range."

Peter put a call through to the Marshals, explaining the situation to Agent Galloway. Neal was on an undercover operation and he had cut the anklet to preserve his cover. The Marshals would still release bolos to the local law enforcement; if anyone looked, it had to appear that Neal had indeed escaped custody.

"How long?" Galloway asked, "How long will Caffrey be off anklet?'

"I don't know, but he is wearing a one way transmitter with a GPS in his watch."

"A watch isn't the same as an anklet," Galloway said. "He could just leave it as a tip for a waiter and you'd never be the wiser."

"I am well aware," Peter snapped back. He was still taking in the offer Teagan had extended to Neal. It was one thing to have Neal off anklet with cash; it was an entirely different scenario to have him off anklet with cash, a new identity and a ticket out of the country. One impulsive act could lead to Neal gone for good. He chose to keep the latest development to himself. If he was freaking out about it Galloway would have a coronary.

"He is undercover, Galloway, working a case. Cut him some slack. You know he's done this many times." He added more firmly than he felt "I trust him."

"If you say so, Burke," Galloway sighed, "but he better keep his head down. If he is spotted by local leos, he will be handled like an escaped felon."

"Teagan is taking him to a secondary location to hold him until the job is completed," Peter told the man. "We will set up surveillance to get a target and time. Once the job goes down, we will move in, make our arrests and put a new anklet on Caffrey."

"I wonder if anklets can be bought in bulk?" Agent Galloway said jokingly. "The way your boy goes through them, it might save your department a few dollars."

"Why don't you just check into that for me?" Peter answered with the same sarcastic tone, and hung up.

After the call, Peter returned to the van.

"Teagan offered him a pretty good deal," Jones said, looking at Peter questioningly. "He sounded really convincing, you know, happy even, when he accepted the job."

"Of course he did, Jones," Peter said, trying to push is own feelings of unease away, "that is why we sent him in there; to be convincing. We need Teagan to think he has taken the job."

"It's just hard to imagine Caffrey not tempted by a wad of cash, a fake ID and a ticket to an island with no extradition." When Peter didn't immediately answer Jones continued, "No anklet. All he has to do is take off that watch and toss it out of the helicopter and he is free and clear."

"He won't do that," Peter said with a confidence he wanted to feel but wasn't sure he did. "He has a life here. He has had chances to run before and he hasn't taken them."

If Neal had wanted to go, Peter told himself, he would have left during the U-boat mess. He had ample opportunity and he was angry at Peter for wrongly accusing him. But he hadn't gone then, even with pressure from Mozzie. So, Peter reasoned, he wouldn't go now. Especially since they were getting along again. But still, it was quite an offer Teagan had extended. It had been unexpected and the way Neal's voice had sounded…..

He couldn't just sit here and wait, hope and worry.

"Jones," Peter said, moving toward the door of the van "Call me when he settles somewhere."

"Will do, Boss," Jones answered, then "So you aren't worried about Caffrey running, not even a little?"

"Nope, not even a little."

"I'm worried," Peter said. He was sitting at the dining room table with Elizabeth. He was tense; it had been forty minutes since Neal had flown off with Don Teagan. Until his GPS settled down at a location, there would be no surveillance. He was waiting to hear from Jones who was monitoring the signal.

"About Neal?" Elizabeth asked the question but knew the answer. Of course it would be about Neal.

"I am afraid he might do something stupid," Peter said, "Like take this opportunity to run." How many times had she heard Peter say those exact words _I am afraid Neal might do something stupid_?

"If he wanted to take the man's offer he could have easily have done so." she reminded him. "He could have just met the man on his own. You said the meet was within his radius. He didn't have to come to you."

"I know he didn't," he admitted, "and I was pleasantly surprised that instead of jumping at the opportunity he used his brain and came to me instead, but…"

"But what?"

"That was before he got the details," Peter explained, "Teagan offered him a sweet deal. Money and a way to disappear. A million dollars isn't all that to Neal, he probably has five times that amount squirreled away. And if he wanted to go I know he could do it on his own. But just to have it offered like that? Neal is impulsive and there it is: a way to disappear. That's different," he said. "I know Neal; he's tempted."

"I am sure he's been tempted before, Peter," Elizabeth reminded him, "Mozzie offered him that U-boat treasure and the chance to run and he didn't take it." Peter was pleased that his earlier attempt to convince himself to have confidence in Neal had been justified. Even Elizabeth realized that if Neal was going to run, he would have done it then. Why hadn't he done it? Because he had a life here.

Of course he _had_ ran later, but only because Peter had told him to. Peter recalled the look on Neal's face when he had given him the signal. Neal was disappointed and upset. He didn't want to run, but he followed Peter's lead and did so anyway.

"I know that's true but I still worry, you know?" Peter tried to explain "As much as a part of him wants to stay here, likes his life here, there _is_ another part of him, too, there's a part that wants to fly." He paused. "He's tempted, I could hear it in his voice."

"He may always be tempted, Peter, he's Neal" She said, "But being tempted isn't wrong. You can only judge him on what he actually goes through with."

"I know," Peter said, "But when that helicopter took off….he knows all we have is the GPS in his watch. He could toss that in the river and end up anywhere."

Elizabeth could hear the strain in Peter's voice. She knew it wasn't just the possibility of losing a CI, or having a criminal on work release escape his custody that was bothering him. Sure, there would be hell to pay but that wasn't the source of the pain in his voice. He didn't want to lose Neal. The thoughts of the young man disappearing from his life was the true cause of his distress. Partner, friend, younger brother, son….his feelings toward Neal were complicated to say the least. But one thing was sure; Peter wanted him in his life. And from what she could tell, the feeling was mutual.

"There is nothing to stop him if he chooses to run," Peter said, shaking his head. "With a new identity, he could get out of the country and I wouldn't be able to get him back. He'd be gone, El."

She squeezed his arm, "Being tempted isn't wrong," she reminded him, "I don't think Neal wants to disappear or he would have before now. Have faith in him, Peter."

Where there isn't trust; there is faith, Peter thought to himself. "I am trying to."

It was an hour later that his phone rang. Caller ID alerted him it was Jones.

"Burke," he answered on the first ring.

"The eagle has landed," he said. "Chopper sat down at the East 34th Street Heliport. Caffrey's signal is parked in a 5 star luxury hotel near by. We are on our way there now."

"Good," Peter said. "I will meet you there."

"Is it Neal?" Elizabeth asked, "Have they found him?"

"They've found his watch," Peter grabbed his coat and kissed Elizabeth as he went for the door. "Now lets just hope it's Neal that is wearing it."

Jones had said Caffrey's signal; not Caffrey. He, like Peter, had heard the lift in Neal's voice at the mention of the additional perks of this job, the excitement at the prospect of flying away in the helicopter, and the almost gleeful 'by all means snip snip' when the anklet was cut. Peter would feel much better once he heard Neal's voice through the surveillance feed. Neal's voice; not the voice of some waiter taking an order in the hotel bar.

Jones gave him a smile and a thumbs up sign the minute he opened the door to the van, and Peter felt a surge of relief. Jones pulled out the headphones so Peter could hear the conversation that was transpiring inside the hotel:

_Teagan: When this is over I want you to come back to Italy with me. _

_Neal: That is a little fast for me; I haven't even finished my dinner yet._

_Teagan: Don't flatter yourself. I have a very profitable business enterprise with opportunities for expansion. I could use someone like to you take on some of the more sensitive projects. I could make it more than worth your while._

_Neal: I haven't even completed the first job and you are offering me permanent employment? That is quite a vote of confidence. _

_Teagan: Yes, it is. And I do not extend the offer lightly, Mr. Caffrey._

_Neal: Let me think about it. Its a lot to take in._

_Teagan: Yes it is. By conclusion of our business Friday, I will need your answer."_

_Neal: Very well. By conclusion of business Friday I will have one._

_Teagan (voice distant) I am just across the hall but my associates will be outside your door. (pause) I suggest you keep to your room, Mr. Caffrey. Until the completion of our business, I must insist you stay out of sight._

_Neal: Considering that legions of federal agents are combing the city for me, staying out of sight is exactly what I plan to do._

_Teagan: And out of touch, too. I don't want you reaching out to anyone._

_Neal: Well you took my phone and I haven't seen a carrier pigeon so you have nothing to worry about. (The sound of a door closing) _

_Neal: You guys get all that? Zenith Building 5:30 pm Friday. And yet another job offer. In Italy, no less. Who knew my mad skills were so widely in demand?_

Peter smiled, shaking his head. Neal hadn't run and was still on task with the operation. No one could have stopped him; he had stopped himself.

Being tempted wasn't wrong, after all, its what a person actually did that mattered.

"What else did you get?" Peter asked Jones, motioning at the notepad.

"We've had him on for about forty minutes. Got the target. They need him to get them in past some high security locking system, I wrote it down." He handed Peter the notepad. "Neal spouted off specs like he designed the thing or something. They already have equipment for him; he makes the key cards tomorrow, the break in is scheduled for Friday after closing."

He paused, "You were right, boss. He didn't toss the watch and run." He looked at Peter with a smile, "I guess you _are_ the expert on Neal Caffrey after all."


	4. Chapter 4

_Afternoon meetings were cancelled and I had a little time on my hands and so I am a day early with this chapter. Thanks for reading and especially reviewing the story. Just FYI, I have finished the story before I start posting it so even though some of you may have some awesome ideas about where the story could go: its already written. Maybe one day I will be brave enough to post as I write, but that day has not yet arrived. I do still like to hear what you would like so I can consider it for future stories._

_Of course, I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility._

**Chapter Four **

Neal was glad to be finally be alone. The afternoon had not gone as he had expected it to. It was strange to put on clothes that Don Teagan had bought for him, as impeccable and obviously expenses as they were. The sizes were perfect, too, right down to the underwear. Creepy, he thought, but he was still grateful that they had made the shopping list. He put on a pair of pajama pants and a tee shirt after his shower and sat down to work out details for the entry into the Zenith Building. Teagan had provided all the information about the building he could possibly need, right down to the comings and going of the people who worked there. He even had a key card, which Neal didn't want to know how he had acquired, that he could mimic. The codes would have been changed, but that wouldn't be a problem. His extensive knowledge of the Onity Locking System went beyond that of a company installer, and maybe even beyond some of the programmers themselves. He smiled at the memory of the months he had spend getting acquainted with the system. He still had various key cards in storage locations scattered about; special pass keys that would get him into any system he had installed. You never knew when one might come in handy. He didn't have one for Zenith Building however; he hadn't installed that system. In fact, he hadn't installed any systems in the states. His work at the time had been confined to a few European companies, and of course, a villa outside Rome. He studied the plans and specifications for the complex, determining what route would be the most suitable and what corresponding key cards would be needed. He made a detailed list of items he would need to complete the task. That list would be handed off to Teagan the first thing in the morning.

But after that was finished, and it was well after midnight, he still found himself unable to turn off his mind and sleep. His thoughts drifted back to the day Teagan's men had extended the invitation. If they had told him up front what the job entailed and what the payment would be, without the whole rib bruising scenario, would he have gone to Peter?

He didn't think that he would have; he had debated it anyway. Instead, he would have gone to Mozzie. He and Mozzie would have discussed it. They would have done some research themselves on Teagan and his operations. They would have gone over it at great length, weighing the pros and cons, the chances that Teagan could actually be trusted to deliver, and how such a move would impact their lives. Could it be done under Peter's nose? Could there be a way to get out of the anklet for the critical times? Could Neal create the cards and let Mozzie do the actual entry? What would the ramifications be? Wine would have probably been involved. But after all of that, would he have accepted the offer? In all honesty, he told himself, probably not. But he certainly would have enjoyed entertaining the idea with his friend and co-conspirator.

Then he recalled the thrill of excitement he had felt when the helicopter had lifted off, leaving the surveillance van far below. With no anklet on his leg, he felt a lightening of his spirit. His heart began to beat faster. Someone knew where he was at every given moment; They could pull up his tracking data and plot out every step he had taken over the past two years, give or take an operation or two and his _vacation_ in Cape Verde. He tried not to think about how confining that knowledge was, how heavily it weighed on his mind sometimes. But as he flew above the city, it occurred to him that he could toss the watch out of the window and no one could track him. There would be no data to pull up and check. He could walk in freedom. But he couldn't walk in freedom to June's or to The Greatest Cake or to his favorite spot at the park. He would have to run; take Teagan's offer and leave New York for good. He enjoyed the exhilaration of knowing how very real that option was. All he had to do was toss the watch. His heart pounded and he had to concentrate to keep his breathing steady. But the feeling only lasted a few moments before he felt a calmness come over him. It was the calmness that always came once he reached a decision. He had looked at the watch on his arm. He liked his apartment at June's. He liked New York. He liked Elizabeth's game hens, and he even liked working with Peter. He could go if he wanted, but he could stay if he wanted, too. That knowledge brought a feeling of peace and calm. Lying there, Neal remembered that moment of decision, felt the peace that came from making it, and finally fell asleep.

Six a.m. came too quickly, and Neal felt the effects of the late night. He climbed on the treadmill, positioned by the large window overlooking the city, and began to run. It wasn't the same as his usual early morning run through the park, but it was good enough. After a vigorous workout he felt better. He felt energized and ready to focus on the task at hand. He left the shower and examined the clothes that had been left for him in the closet. He picked out an outfit and dressed, combed his hair, returned to the bedside table and picked up the watch.

"Good morning," he said softly. "Another hour and your relief will arrive."

There was a knock on the door at seven a.m. Neal bid the visitor to enter. One of Teagan's men, the younger of the two Neal had been pummeled by on Tuesday, rolled a trolley inside. Apparently breakfast had arrived. The man's look said that he didn't appreciate being food service, and he only glared at Neal's polite "Good morning."

"Mr. Teagan said you have a list?" the voice was gruff.

"Yes," Neal handed the man the list he had compiled the night before, "and if you want a good dish, don't skimp on the ingredients." He smiled brightly. The man was not amused.

"Mr. Teagan thinks you are something special, but I don't see it." He said "You look like a little punk-a**ed kid to me."

"Looks can be deceiving," Neal said easily, "for instance, you look rather intelligent to me."

That earned him a punch in the gut, and he let out a yelp. The man smiled as Neal straighten himself back up to his normal stance, unable to hide the discomfort. "Guess those ribs are still a bit tender, huh Caffrey?"

"A bit," Neal admitted. Teagan might think he was worth keeping around long term but it was clear that this man did not feel the same way. And judging by the behavior of the other man during the original beat down, he doubted that he was a Neal Caffrey fan, either.

Just after ten, the man arrived with the items Neal had requested. He looked questioningly at some of the items but didn't ask any questions, and after depositing everything he left Neal to his work.

Neal was anxious to get started; with nothing to do but wait during the morning, he was suffering a bad case of cabin fever. He had almost taken a chance to venture out of the penthouse, but the pain in his mid section cautioned him to do nothing to encourage any further injury. Now that supplies had arrived, his mind could be occupied. He began to sort out and arrange his tools and supplies in a very neat and precise order, and when he was finished, he began to work.

Lunch arrived at twelve-thirty on the dot, but Neal didn't even look up from his work when the man entered nor when he departed. When he came back to get the trolley an hour later, the food had remained untouched.

"You not going to eat anything?" the man asked, causing Neal to look up from his work.

"Oh, yeah," Neal said, stepping over and raising the cover on the dish. It looked like a club sandwich. He took a napkin, opened it up and lay in on the table, and placed half of the sandwich on it. He took the other in his hand, and replaced the cover on the dish. "Just got busy, you know," he said to the man with a smile, "time flies when you are having fun."

The man grunted at that, but Neal couldn't tell if it was in agreement or disagreement. Either way, he and the trolley disappeared out the door and Neal finished his sandwich. Just as the morning had dragged by before his supplies had arrived, the time after he began his work passed in a flash. By mid afternoon Teagan arrived to check on his progress; he was all but finished with the necessary key cards. Neal again explained the way in which they would enter the Zenith Building, access the office in question, and escape the premises. In and out in twenty minutes, was his prediction, if Teagan was correct about the location of the files he was on mission to acquire. Teagan was impressed as he looked at one of Neal's forged key cards.

"Have you given my offer any further thought?" he said, "A man with your talents can go far," he smiled, "Much further than what you have allowed yourself to become accustomed to."

"Yes, Italy is definitely out of my radius," Neal agreed, "I am considering it." And he was; entertaining the idea in his mind was quite enjoyable. The only thing that would have made it more so was Mozzie and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.

"By the conclusion of our business tomorrow," Teagan reminded him, "I will need an answer."

"And by then you will have one."


	5. Chapter 5

_Okay, fast readers have asked if I jumped ahead...yes, the story jumps to the next afternoon; after the 'conclusion of business' on Friday. What happened will be explained over the course of the next few chapters. __Thanks for reading and reviewing!_

_Of course, I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility._

**Chapter Five **

"I asked, and he said he was okay," Peter insisted, feeling a wave of guilt that he hadn't pressed the issue at the time. He knew Neal wasn't okay; He didn't do well with dead bodies. Especially so when he knew the victim. So the way he had looked; pale and unsteady on his feet hadn't seemed out of place. And when he clearly wanted away from the scene Peter, after retrieving the special GPS tracker watch and having Jones snap his anklet back into place, had an officer take him home.

"Yeah, and he is always so honest when asked that question," Mozzie said sarcastically.

"Look, things went bad really fast; I had a dead suspect on my hands. I was a bit occupied trying to deal with that small glitch in the take down plan." He paused and looked past Mozzie into the room. He didn't see Neal. "I told him to let the EMT guys check him out before he left."

"And he is always so good at following directions, too," Mozzie said, "Did he take a blow to the head during this, ah, glitch in the take down plan?"

"Yeah, I think so," Peter said, trying to remember exactly what Neal had said. "He said somebody hit him and…" he trailed off.

"And what?"

"Well, he was missing for awhile. He was a good ten, fifteen minutes behind the others." He paused, remembering his fears that Neal had found an alternate route out of the building and had made a run for it with Teagan; and his very different fear when Neal stumbled out from around the building, covered in blood.

"He's showing signs of a concussion; he needs to see a doctor."

"Where is he? If he has a head injury, we can't let him sleep…." Peter stepped towards Neal's room and heard water running in the bathroom.

Peter tried to remember the exchange between him and Neal at the Zenith Building. Neal had been stunned and clearly traumatized by what had happened. A falling out among thieves had left one of them with a slit throat. The ease in which Neal had handed over cash, a fake ID and a ticket to Dubai was further testimony to his traumatized state. Not the usual action of Neal Caffrey. He had been dazed; his movements slow as if his mind was in a fog. Peter had helped him clean his hands; helped him shed the blood covered shirt before giving him an FBI jacket to wear. When Jones had replaced the anklet, there wasn't the usual Caffrey response of a groan of despair or look of distaste. He had thought it was all from the shock of what had happened. Obviously there had been more to it; Neal was not only traumatized, he was also concussed.

"Headache, dizziness, disorientation, Nausea, Vomiting?" Peter ran down the list as it came into his mind.

"Yes, yes, definitely yes, yes and probably yes since he ran off to the bathroom," Mozzie responded in kind. At that, they heard the bathroom door open and Mozzie called out to his friend, "You okay in there?"

"Not really," came the feeble answer, and they heard the bed jostle as Neal's weight fell on it. Both Peter and Mozzie looked at each other. That was not the standard answer. Neal was always fine even when he clearly wasn't.

"Can we come in?"

Mozzie asked the question even as they crossed the threshold into Neal's room. He was dressed in loose fitting pants and a tee shirt and was sprawled across the bed. The arm he had flung over his face moved, and he peered at them "Who's we?" His tone perked up in concern, and he groaned when he saw Peter follow Mozzie into the room, hiding his face again with his arm. "I told you not to call him. I'm fine." _That_ was the standard Neal Caffrey answer.

"I am not convinced, mon frère, let the suit take a look at you." They approached but stopped as Neal suddenly rolled over toward the side of the bed and vomited into a bin that was sitting there. Out of its place in the bathroom, he had apparently taken precautions and brought it with him. As Peter went through to get a cloth from the bathroom, Neal continued to heave, even though there was nothing left to come up. Peter knew that his lunch had been left in a similar trash bin at the Zenith Building when he had seen the body of Don Teagan.

Peter found a cloth in the bathroom, ran it under cold water and squeezed it out. By the time he returned, Neal was on his back on the bed, pale and sweaty. Peter handed him the cloth, which he took.

"Fine, huh?" Peter asked.

Neal put the cloth over his eyes and sighed, "Okay, maybe not so much, but I don't need you here." His arm went back over his eyes, covering the cloth as well, "I have a headache and need to rest. It's just been…" he stopped, "a difficult day."

Peter sat down beside him. Mozzie kept his distance, probably afraid of a repeat of the vomiting. "How hard did Ponder hit you, Neal? Did you lose consciousness?" his hand went to Neal's head, feeling gently through his damp hair for any sign of injury. He felt a lump and Neal let out a small yelp. "Pretty hard, I'd say," Peter answered his own question. "Sit up and let me look at your eyes." Neal only groaned in protest and didn't move, his arm still hiding his face.

"Come on Neal," Peter sounded like someone trying to coax a child out from a hiding place, and reached down and moved his arm away from his face, and then he took the cloth. "Now, sit up."

Neal groaned again, but this time he sat up; immediately he rolled to the side and repeated the heaving into the trash can. Peter placed the cloth on the back of Neal's neck, and after several minutes, Neal's stomach eased its fit. He raised up into a sitting position, back against the headboard for support. He wiped his face with the cloth. "Sitting up isn't a good idea," he said, voice slurring slightly "I need to lay down."

"Not yet," Peter said, putting a hand on Neal's shoulder to stop his effort to do just that. He leaned close and looked into Neal's eyes, looking from one to the other. He was pretty sure the left pupil was larger than the right, and the expression in the blue eyes wasn't as bright as usual.

"You probably have a concussion, Neal," he said, verifying Mozzie's original diagnoses. "We need to get you to the hospital and let them run some tests to see how serious it is."

"I don't want to go, Peter," he whined, "I just want to stay here, in my own clothes and in my own bed and sleep." After three days in Teagan's penthouse, Peter understood Neal's wish to be in his own space, but a trip to the hospital was in his immediate future.

"Sorry buddy," Peter said, looking around the room for Neal's shoes. To Mozzie, he said, "Get him a warmer shirt or a jacket; it too cold for just a tee shirt." He spotted a pair of loafers near the closet door; they should be easy to get on. He left his place beside Neal to retrieve them, and as he turned, he saw that Neal had slipped back down onto his side, slightly curled up, eyes closed.

Peter hurried back to him, sitting the shoes on the floor by the bed. "Neal," he said tapping his face gently to get him to open his eyes, "Neal," he repeated "you have to stay away, okay? No sleep right now. We need to get you to the car, can you walk?"

"I don't want to walk, I want to sleep," was the mumbled answer, eyes still closed.

"Neal," Peter said, "You can't sleep right now. Open your eyes." The blue eyes opened.

"Good," Peter said. "Let's see if we can get you on your feet. We need to get you to the hospital." With Peter's help, Neal began to comply with the request, but progress was interrupted by his need yet again to bend his head over the bin. Peter held out the cloth to Mozzie, who with a look of horror took it, holding it far from him. He stepped into the bathroom to freshen it. Neal was still spitting into the bin when he returned. Peter took the cloth when Mozzie extended it.

"Get him some water," Peter stood up, "I'm calling it in: we aren't going to be able to get him to my car in this condition." By the time he had finished the call, Neal was upright, again leaning against the headboard. Mozzie returned and handed the glass of water to Neal, who sipped gratefully. He looked worse than before, and his hand trembled as he handed the glass back to Mozzie.

He rested his head against the headboard, "My head hurts."

"I know," Peter returned to him, helped him raise up, putting two pillows behind him. "You can ease down a little, Neal, you're right; sitting isn't a good idea." Neal winced in pain as he moved himself down, not quite sitting but not lying either. He looked a bit more comfortable; too much because his eyes closed again.

"Wake up, Neal," Peter said, using the cloth to wipe his face. There was no response. "Neal," Peter's voice was louder this time, more demanding, "You can't sleep. Open your eyes and look at me. _Now_."

"Why do I do that?" Neal's eyes had opened, but his words came slowly as if he had to concentrate to form each one, "Why do I always do what you want?"

Peter's eyebrows raised in surprise. "You don't; I told you to let the EMTs check you out before you left, which you obviously did not do."

"I didn't say I always do what you _tell_ me," Neal mumbled, "That's different. But I do what you want me to," Neal said, perplexed, "I don't even know _why;_ I just do."

"Its because you trust me, Neal," Peter answered, concerned as Neal's words grew slower and more unclear, as apparently did his thought processes "And you trust my judgment."

And in Peter's judgement, Neal needed to be in the hospital.


	6. Chapter 6

_I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility._

**Chapter Six **

_"Why do I do that?" Neal's eyes had opened, but his words came slowly as if he had to concentrate to form each one, "Why do I always do what you want?"_

_Peter's eyebrows raised in surprise. "You don't; I told you to let the EMT's check you out before you left, which you obviously did not do." _

_"I didn't say I always do what you tell me," Neal mumbled, "That's different. But I do what you want me to," Neal said, perplexed, "I don't even know why; I just do." _

_"Its because you trust me, Neal," Peter answered, concerned as Neal's words grew slower and more unclear. "And you trust my judgment."_

"But why would I do that?" his voice was faint as he put a hand on his forehead, squeezing at this temples, "I don't trust anyone."

"You trust me; you told me so."

"But he said …my judgment was clouded…that I let you…. control me…" He stopped, dropping his hand and looking at Peter with confused eyes, "Mozzie says the same thing….It's why I am still here, still in this _anklet_," he moved his left foot slightly.

At Neal's words, Peter remembered the surveillance section that he had listened to just this morning. Jones had specifically tagged it for him to listen to from the day before. When he had seen the tag, he had looked at Jones quizzically, "No notes?" Usually anything important was jotted down by the monitoring agent.

"Not case related," Had been the cryptic answer. Peter had gone immediately to his office and found the time stamp indicated and listened to the conversation between Donald Teagan and Neal. It must have been during dinner because Peter could hear the sound of cutlery on the plates.

_Teagan: I have done extensive research on you._

_Neal: So you think you are an expert on Neal Caffrey?_

_Teagan: I think I am becoming one, yes, can I call you Neal?_

_Neal: Since you're an expert and all, why not?_

_Teagan: Burke calls you Neal. And you call him Peter (brief pause) You can call me Don if you wish." _

_Neal: Since I have not done extensive research on you, I am perfectly content to call you Mr. Teagan._

_Teagan: But Agent Burke you call Peter._

_Neal, clearly irritated: Being on a first name basis gives the impression of trust and camaraderie; anything to make it harder to for the man to send me back to prison. (Pause) Orange isn't my color._

_Teagan: That can work both ways, you know. We thought that after two year of playing that trust and camaraderie role you had fallen for your own con. _

_Neal: Then your expert on Neal Caffrey claim isn't very impressive._

_Teagan: My partners believe Agent Burke has some kind of psychological hold on you, and he has used it to control you. In their opinion, your wings have not only been clipped by the FBI, but you have in fact been tamed and no longer have an interest in flying. They didn't think you would do the job willingly."_

_Neal: Why would they think that? _

_Teagan: Extensive research. You weren't much more than a kid when you crossed Agent Burke's path. From what we can tell, he has pretty much been the only consistent person in your life._

_Neal, annoyed: Yes, a consistent pain in my ass. He put me in prison; twice. Not to mention parading me around in that damn anklet and threatening to send me back to prison every other week._

_Teagan: But you said yourself even after he put you in prison, you sought him out. You instigated your current working relationship. That indicates that you wanted to keep his presence in your life in some way._

_Neal: That isn't true. I just needed his presence to stay out of prison. _

_Teagan: You have stayed in this situation with Burke for more than two years, and someone like you would have other options. Something has kept you from running, and we know it wasn't a tracking device. You are attached to the man, Neal, and that has affected your judgment. I'm just glad you finally chose to break his hold over you before it was too late. _

"I told you definitely yes on the disoriented symptom, remember?" Mozzie was saying beside him, shaking him from his memory.

Peter looked back at Neal, understanding his derailed train of thought.

"I'm trapped," Neal continued. "It doesn't matter how good my escape plans are if I'm never able to take any of them," his voice was plaintive, "and I have some great plans, Peter, and Mozzie …. incredible ones, but I just couldn't… then the helicopter… I knew it was a chance… toss the watch…. but I didn't…just couldn't run…." By the end Peter was struggling to understand him, his speech markedly slow and unclear. Where was the ambulance?

"I am glad you didn't run, Neal," Peter said, trying to comfort the obviously disconcerted young man. But curiosity got the better of him. "Neal," he tried to catch Neal's dull eyes with his own, "Neal, look at me: What great plans?"

Before the blue eyes could find his, Mozzie put a hand on Neal's shoulder.

"Speaking as Neal's attorney," Mozzie interrupted, "I have to insist that…"

His warning was interrupted by the sound of the ambulance arriving.

"Go let them in, Mozzie," Peter said.

"Suit," Mozzie said, heading for the door, "No interrogating a man with a head injury!"

Peter turned back to Neal, surprised when the blue eyes met his. "The only time I did was when you wanted me to," Neal's voice was faint but somewhat clearer.

"Only time you did what, Neal?"

"Ran," he whispered, "I ran because you wanted me to."

Peter heard Mozzie and the medics arriving in the apartment, and he moved away from the bed as they entered. They immediately went to work.

"Can you tell me your name?" One medic was strapping a blood pressure cuff on Neal's arm, and the other was holding Neal's forehead with one hand and flashing a light into his eyes. Peter and Mozzie stood aside, watching as they did their jobs.

"Neal Caffrey," Neal muttered, wincing against the discomfort of the light, "Consultant, hostage…" the medic sent a questioning look at Peter.

"He took a blow to the head," he explained, "and he's loopy." Peter flashed his badge, "I am Agent Peter Burke and Mr. Caffrey works with me as a consultant." He looked at Neal, "He is _not_ a hostage."

"How are you feeling, Mr. Caffrey?" The medic was now examining Neal's head, and Neal grunted in pain when the lump was discovered.

"Mozzie says it's Stockholm syndrome…." The medic looked at Peter, eyebrows raised in question again.

"We think concussion," Peter supplied.

"…Even when I get a chance…I won't do it…I'm _trapped_." Neal continued.

Peter shook his head slightly, dismissing Neal's comments. "Headache, nausea and vomiting, hard time keeping him awake, and, of course," he looked at Neal, "he's _loopy_."

"Yes, he's obviously disoriented, lethargic and his pupils are unequal, too. How long ago did this happen?" he motioned towards Neal's head.

"About four hours ago."

"And his symptoms have gotten worse and not better?"

"Definitely worse, just since I've been here." Peter said, looking at Neal in concern. He had grown quiet and his eyes were closed.

"Mr. Caffrey," the Medic said, "Stay with me." He gently tapped Neal on the cheek. "Come on, open your eyes for me."

"Light hurts…." Neal mumbled; eyes still closed, "I just wanna sleep. In my bed….don't want to go anywhere…."

"Let's get him transported."

"Is he going to be okay?" Peter asked.

"His vitals are good, but we need to get him in for a CT scan to determine the seriousness of his injury." They moved Neal onto the stretcher. "You can follow us in."

"Hold up," Peter said, pulling the key to the anklet from his pocket. "He wears a tracking device on his left ankle," he went around the stretcher and removed the anklet, "No CT scans with that thing on him."

"Not a hostage, huh?" The medic chuckled as they went out the door.

Peter and Mozzie followed. Neal was still mumbling, but it was unintelligible to anyone but him.

"So, Mozzie," Peter began as they descended the staircase, "am I hearing that Neal has like a half dozen ways to escape FBI custody and disappear at any given time?"

"Well," Mozzie said, "one less than that since the 2.5 million dollar ring is no longer in his possession." Mozzie cleared his throat uncomfortably. "He is suffering from a concussion so nothing he has said can be used against him."

Peter stopped and looked at Mozzie incredulously. "You are serious; Neal has actual escape plans _in place_." Mozzie paused two stepped below and looked back at him.

"Of course he does; he's Neal. He had a plan to get out of Sing Sing within a week of being there. He just didn't choose to use it. He wanted to do his time. Until…

"Kate delivered her little farewell message," Peter finished. With less than four months left on his sentence, Neal had ran.

"Yes, he let his emotions override his judgment, and look where that got him. You wonder why he worries about his abnormal attachment to you?" He looked at Peter like he was an idiot, "Of course Neal has plans. You act like that is a bad thing."

Mozzie continued down the stairs, and Peter followed, the conversation continuing. "Neal having escape plans? Yes, Mozzie, I consider that a bad thing."

"I fear you underestimate the subtle nuances of an escape plan. An escape plan's purpose is..."

"Fairly straightforward and self-explanatory, I think," Peter said.

….. not always to provide a way to escape," Mozzie continued, ignoring the interruption, "sometimes its purpose is to make staying in a difficult situation possible."

"That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever."

"It make perfect sense, Suit," he explained. "An escape plan guarantees a person latitude, laissez faire, flexibility…"

"Plenty of rope to hang oneself?" Peter interrupted again.

"freedom, Suit," Mozzie said. "Freedom is having the ability to make a choice. In order to make a choice, a person must have _options_ from whence to choose. An escape plan provides an option, therefore giving a person a choice: run or stay put."

They had reached the sidewalk where the medics were loading a now silent Neal into the waiting ambulance. Peter watched as they pulled the doors closed. A moment later they sped away. He looked at Mozzie, understanding slowly dawning on him. Neal had a plan to escape prison but hadn't wanted to use it. He just needed to know escape was an option.

"The purpose is to make staying in a difficult situation possible," Peter said, "by making it a choice. Neal stays because he sees it as his choice."

"Yes, but the thing is, for it to work, escape has to stay a viable option; you have to know you can do it if you want to." Mozzie shrugged, "that's what Neal's concussed brain is in a tizzy about. He's afraid he can't use any of his escape plans."

"Why?" Peter asked. They had arrived at his car.

"Because he knows you don't want him to, and for some reason he feels compelled to please you," Mozzie's voice was bitter. "If you remove the option of escaping, Suit, it takes away his ability to choose to stay. It makes him feel…."

"trapped," Peter finished remembering the mournful tone of Neal's voice.

"And be warned," Mozzie said, waiting for Peter to unlock the car door, "a trapped Neal is not a pretty sight."


	7. Chapter 7

_Short Chapter but I hope you like it. Medically ignorant so excuse any stupidity. Of course, I own nothing but the mistakes, for which I accept all responsibility._

**Chapter Seven **

By the time Peter and Mozzie arrived at the hospital, Neal was already in route for a CT scan and MRI. Peter had called Elizabeth on the way to the hospital, but since it had been close to eleven p.m. he had encouraged her to stay home. He promised he would call when the doctor let him know something. He had been pretty upbeat during their conversation; the medics attending to Neal hadn't given him any indication that Neal was in immediate danger. But on arriving at the emergency room and learning that Neal had seized during transport, his apprehension grew. The attending doctor indicated to Peter and Mozzie the concern that a more serious injury may have occurred. The Glasgow Coma Scale, used as part of the initial evaluation, had deteriorated from a 12 to a 7 from the time of initial contact with the medics to the arrival at the hospital. The imaging tests he had ordered would determine the severity of the injury and reveal any internal bleeding or blood accumulation in the brain. Just the mention of an intracranial hemorrhage had cause Mozzie to blanch. The prognosis and course of treatment would depend upon the results of the tests. Peter and Mozzie were left to wait.

It was well after midnight when the doctor came back with an update. "The tests did show evidence of intracranial hemorrhage and cerebral edema," at the looks on the men's face, the doctor held up his hand, "I don't anticipate surgery. Due to the location and extent of the hemorrhage, I believe we can treat it with medication. We have started him on corticosteroids to reduce swelling, and an anticonvulsant to control seizures. He is still not responsive but we are hopeful that once he begins to respond to the medication, his comatose state will reverse."

"Comatose state?" Mozzie asked, clearly startled by the news. "Neal's in a coma?"

"Your friend suffered a subdural hematoma," the doctor explained. "This happens when the bridging veins from the skull to the brain are torn. Blood accumulated, the pressure caused the brain to compress against the skull. His current comatose state is a result of that. But as I said, once the medication reduces the swelling I am optimistic that he will regain consciousness."

"When will that be?" Peter asked sharing Mozzie's concern. Unconscious was one thing; a coma was another.

"It's hard to say," the doctor explained, "We have to see how he responds to the treatment. Even after the swelling dissipates, he may remain unconscious for some time." He looked at the men, realizing he wasn't giving them the answered they wanted. "He needs rest; how much depends on the extent of physical and emotional strain he has been under the past few days." He looked at Peter, "He suffered some injuries prior to his head trauma; severe bruising of the ribs that I am sure has been quite painful. That indicates he has been under considerable physical strain. What about emotional?" He paused before adding, "I gather this was part of a Federal undercover operation? I would imagine that would create somewhat of an emotional strain as well."

Emotional strain? Peter knew that the death of Don Teagan had deeply shaken Neal. He didn't like violence, and having a man's throat cut was about as violent as it got. He wasn't sure if Neal had actually witnessed the murder, but he knew that Neal had seen the aftermath. He explained briefly. He didn't even broach the issue of Neal's recent concussion induced emotional angst about being a hostage and suffering from Stockholm syndrome.

"That sounds a step above stain into traumatic," the doctor said with concern. "He will wake when he is ready. We will monitor him closely until that time." He looked at the weary men in front of him. "I suggest you two get some rest. I don't anticipate any real changes in Mr. Caffrey's condition for several hours. If there are any, I will contact you."

"Can we see him?" Peter asked.

"Sure," the doctor said, "Just for a few minutes. Our evaluation indicates a light coma; he did show some response to painful stimulus, so on some level he might be aware that you are here. It might be a comfort to him."

Neal looked as if he were sleeping when they entered the room but was pale and very still. That was disconcerting to both Peter and Mozzie; Neal was never still. IV's were set up administering both fluids and a variety of medications. Mozzie shifted around uncomfortably, then stepped up to the bed. He touched Neal's shoulder gently, "Don't sleep too long, Neal, I really don't enjoy drinking your wine without you," he paused, "Much." He looked at Peter. "I am going to Friday for the night so I will catch a cab." With a glance back at his silent friend, he was quickly out the door.

After Mozzie left, Peter shifted uncomfortably himself. If Neal did know he was here, if he could say something to comfort him, what would it be? Lots of things went through his mind, but what did Neal need to hear?

_" You weren't much more than a kid when you crossed Agent Burke's path…. ….he has pretty much been the only consistent person in your life…you sought him out….you wanted to keep his presence in your life …..Something has kept you from running…. You are attached to the man, Neal…."_

He took a deep breath, took Neal's still hand into his and leaned down closer to Neal's face.

"You did a good job, Neal," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "And I am glad you didn't run. I never want you to go where I can't find you." He felt a lump in his throat and he was almost glad the blue eyes were closed. Had they opened and looked at him, he was sure he would cry. "Even when your time is served, and the anklet is a thing of the past, I always want to be able to find you," he squeezed Neal's hand, "I always want you to be a part of my life, Neal, always." The felt his throat tighten painfully as he finished his monologue.

He may not have been sure what Neal needed to hear but he knew what he needed to say. If Neal was indeed attached to him, Peter wanted him to know the feeling was mutual.


	8. Chapter 8

_Leaving for a work related trip out of town tomorrow; will update stories when I return on Tuesday night. Thanks for reading and reviewing. It makes me happy. __I own nothing but the mistakes for which I accept all responsibility._

**Chapter Eight **

"This is definitely not the Las Vegas of the Persian Gulf," Peter jumped at the sound of Neal's voice. Even though his eyes had opened briefly over the past several hours, he hadn't spoken. Hoarse from days of disuse, his voice, laced with sarcasm, was a pleasant sound to Peter's ears. Neal was back.

"No, its not," Peter agreed, getting to his feet and pressing the call button. "Doctors have been waiting on you to wake up." He smiled, "And so have I."

"How long?" Neal moved uncomfortably in the bed, looking with dismay at the IV attached to his arm.

"Two days. It's Sunday evening. What do you last remember?" The doctor had explained that Neal would like suffer from some level of amnesia. The extent couldn't be determined until he was lucid enough to undergo an assessment .

"Envelope with money, some account numbers, a passport and…." He looked at Peter hesitantly and his voice trailed off.

"Yes, a ticket to Dubai," Peter smiled, "the Las Vegas of the Persian Gulf."

"Something bad happened, didn't it?" The pallor of Neal's face increased, his tone worried, "other than the obvious that I didn't go to Dubai…".

At that, the nurse entered, "Mr. Caffrey," she said, stethoscope in hand, "its good to see you have finally decided to join us," She looked at Peter, "The doctor is on his way." Peter took that as his cue to leave the room. A series of neurologic tests were in store for his friend.

"Don't worry about any of that right now," He said in answer to Neal's question, putting a hand on his arm and squeezing it. "Let them check you out. I'll be back when they finish with you and we can talk then."

"Peter," Neal voice stopped him at the door and he looked back, "Thanks, you know, thanks for being here when I woke up."

"You're welcome," Peter answered, "I am just glad you are back."

After Peter left the room, the doctor introduced himself to his patient. Even though he had attended to him for the past three days, he had yet to have a conversation with the young man. He told Neal the extent of the injuries he had sustained and what treatment options had been utilized. He then explained the necessity of doing some exercises and activities, or neurologic testing, to determine if any changes had occurred in his brain function. The doctor saw the immediate look of concern on his patient's face and did his best to alleviate his fears.

"Headache, feeling like you are in a fog, fatigue," the doctor began, "These are all normal after an injury such as yours. These tests are just to see where you are, to spot any problem areas so we can help adjust until things get back to normal. In cases like yours, most cognitive issues have cleared up completely within a few weeks."

The doctor then begin his tests. He asked Neal about how the injury had occurred and what he remembered about what had happened before and after the injury. Neal remembered events that happened previous to the injury, but not the injury itself or any of the events that immediately followed it. He had some recollection of being sick in his apartment but that had occurred several hours later. His most clear recollection about that was that vomiting with bruised ribs was exceedingly painful. The doctor smiled at that comment, and told Neal that he had seen the injuries to his mid section and did not doubt that it had been an excruciating experience. Neal did not remember any of the care he had received at the hands of the medics who had attended him even though he had been conscious at the time. He did not remember being transported to the hospital, nor any of the brief moments he had been semi-conscious the past few hours. The doctor explained that lack of clear memory of the injury and the event that followed was a common occurrence after a brain injury such as his, It was called post-traumatic amnesia. The memories might return, but usually they did not. Even though Peter had told the doctor of the gruesome events that had taken place at the time of Neal's injury, he did not share that information with Neal. He then tested Neal's ability to pay attention and stay on task, presenting him with a variety of problems and noting how quickly he was able to solve them. He was impressed with the young man. Even though Neal showed frustration at what he felt was slow reaction times, the doctor classified them as average. He did realize however, that the highly intelligent would not be accustomed to finishing in the average range. He showed Neal several objects, took them away, and had Neal name them back to him. Finally, he had checked his patient's strength, balance, coordination, reflexes, and sensations. As he did the series of tests, he had also interacted with his patient, determining if any behavioral or emotional symptoms were present. It had been observed during his brief moments of consciousness that Neal had been at times anxious. This too was common. Two hours after he had introduced himself to his patient, the doctor finished the examination and worked up his evaluation.

When Peter was allowed back into Neal's room, he could tell that Neal was exhausted. The doctor seemed up beat and positive, and both Neal and Peter were relieved to learn that the neurologic profile did not indicate, except for post-traumatic amnesia, that Neal was suffering from any significant cognitive deficits.

"Rest, Mr. Caffrey," the doctor said, "That is the best way to recover from your injury. You need to rest your body and especially your brain."

"That means no scheming or plotting Neal, do you think you can handle that?" Peter teased.

"Get plenty of sleep at night," the doctor continued, "and take it easy during the day. Avoid activities that are physically or mentally taxing. You may need to change your work schedule while you recover." He looked at Peter. "No undercover operations for my patient until I have cleared him." He looked at Neal. "I am willing to discharge you in the morning if you have someone who can keep a close eye on you for the next few days."

Neal opened his mouth to speak but Peter beat him to it. "He does. He will stay at my house." He smiled at Neal's expression of distress. "I always keep a close eye on him."

A groan escaped from Neal but the doctor knew it wasn't a groan of pain but of mock exasperation. He had observed the two men during the course of the weekend and knew that their friendship was a close one. One an FBI agent, and the other wearing a tracking device, he didn't begin to understand the strange dynamics that were at play there. Captor and captive or father and son; it wasn't at all clear. What was clear was that the Agent had hardly left Neal's bedside and when the young man had been anxious and confused, it had only taken a touch on his arm, or a quiet word, to settle his semi-conscious mind.

The doctor left them and Peter gave Neal a very abbreviated run down of how things had transpired at the Zenith Building. He told him that Teagan had been killed but he didn't go into any details: Neal didn't remember them and Peter thought it was probably best that way.

He was telling him about the arrest, and how it had taken Neal so long to exit the building.

"You thought I took the money and ran." Neal sounded disappointed, but the gleam in his eyes said something else. How could someone sound disappointed but look pleased? Peter was pretty sure he knew the answer to that.

"Money, fake ID, ticket to an island with no extradition?" Peter answered, "Yeah, it crossed my mind. And you clearly said in and out in twenty minutes. After thirty, I was beginning to panic. And when the others came out without you…."

"You thought had another route out of the building and that I ran," Neal finished.

"And you did have your own route, because you didn't come out the same way as the others; you came from the other side somewhere." Peter stopped, "you had your own key card, didn't you, and they didn't know?"

"Of course," he answered easily, "I always have an alternate escape plan."

Peter tried to keep his disapproving expression, but struggled to keep a smile from breaking through. Of course he had an alternate escape plan; he was Neal. After being educated in the subtle nuances of escape plans, Peter no longer immediately regarded that fact as a bad thing. They weren't always a way to run; sometimes they were a way to stay.

"You could have used it and used that ticket to Dubai if you wanted to. No one was there to stop you," Peter said.

"I have to take your word on that since I don't remember any of it."

Peter tried to keep his voice as conversational as possible, but it was hard given the importance of what he wanted to say. "We both know, that in the end you do what you want to do, Neal. From the beginning, our arrangement was your choice. You make your own decisions and if you really wanted to go, a watch with a GPS or an anklet wouldn't stop you."

There was a thoughtful look in Neal's face at that, and Peter felt that he had given back something that the young man may have feared he had lost.

"Like I said, I don't remember coming out of the building and I certainly don't remember giving you my ticket to Dubai," Neal said slowly, "but I was suffering from a traumatic brain injury."

"True, if things hadn't gone south and the offer for permanent employment hadn't been withdrawn, would you have walked out and handed me your ticket to freedom?" Peter was certain he knew the answer but thought Neal might like to think he didn't. If escape was still an option in Peter's mind, maybe Neal would think it was too.

Neal smile was not his usual but it was the best he could manage in his current condition, which was actually quite exhausted in spite of two days of sleep. "I guess we will never know."

But Neal did know. He knew, just like in the helicopter, there would have been those moments of nervous excitement and exhilaration at the thought of taking the payment and exiting out the back; he had created the key card as a part of that escape plan. Peter and the team would be busy with the exiting thieves, and leaving the watch inside, he could have slipped away unseen. But nothing had changed since he sat in the helicopter, experiencing that same pivotal moment. He liked the view from his apartment at June's. He liked that special place in the park. He liked testing Elizabeth's new dishes, and he liked Peter. The man who had been sitting by his bed when he awakened after two days of slumber, and was standing be beside him now, looking at him with an odd little smile on his face, like he understood more than he was letting on. Neal knew he could have gone if he wanted, but he would have chosen to stay; he had chosen to stay, whether he actively remembered it or not. Choices. That was all he asked for and he had plenty of them. That knowledge brought a feeling of peace and calm to his mind, and he felt his eyes growing heavy again. With an odd little smile of his own, he let them close and drifted off to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

_I own nothing but the mistakes for which I accept all responsibility. Thanks for reading!_

**Chapter Nine **

Neal had raised a protect about staying in the Burke's guest room, but Peter had insisted. June wasn't in town to keep an eye on Neal and even though Mozzie could have done it, Peter quite honestly wanted to keep an eye on him himself. He knew it was rooted in the fact that he had sent Neal home from a crime scene with a severe head injury and hadn't noticed it. Even though realistically he understood how it had happened, it still bothered him that it had.

Elizabeth was pleased that Neal would be a guest for a few days as he recovered. She had insisted that Peter give her the instruction sheet the hospital had provided on Neal's release. In addition to both physical and mental rest, there was several things to watch for in case he developed postconcussive syndrome.

With Peter's need to be at the office and Neal's exhausted state, the topic of Don Teagan didn't come up until after dinner. Neal still didn't remember what had happened but he knew that Teagan had been killed on the order of his so called partners in Italy.

"It's the reason I wasn't sorry to send you to prison, Neal, even though I liked you," Peter explained. "I worried that that would happen to you. I knew you weren't violent, but when you travel in those circles, you come in contact with those who are."

"Nice," Neal said wryly, "You put me in prison to keep me safe."

"Prison is better than dead. Just look at Don Teagan," Peter reminded him. "The longer you stay in that life the more chances something unpleasant is going to stick to you."

"Mozzie says if you lay down with dogs," Neal said, "You get up with fleas."

Peter winced. It was always hard when he and Mozzie agreed on something but the little guy had recently provided him with some valuable insight, so he didn't take it too hard.

"I just hate it ended that way for him," Neal said. "He saved my life. If the others had had their way, they would have snatched me to get them inside and then killed me."

Peter nodded, "Yeah, I heard that part. You were lucky he was the one here handling the details."

"He thought I was worth more, you know?" Neal said, "I think he thought he was saving me from more than just death."

"How so?" Peter asked but was certain he knew the answer. Teagan had wanted to set free what he thought was a caged bird at best, or a tamed one at worse. Peter knew that even Neal questioned which of those he was sometimes, especially in rare moments of insecurity.

Just a flicker of emotion crossed Neal's face before he covered it with a smile, "The Las Vegas of the Persian Gulf sounds a lot more fun than surveillance van excitement, I must say. Boredom isn't a whole lot higher on the list than death you know, and just barely above prison."

"So he was saving you from boredom," Peter said with a smile.

"You don't think…" Neal paused with a grimace, as if the thought he had caused physical pain "they didn't kill him because he insisted on hiring me, did they?"

Peter understood Neal's concern. He had said, and they had heard, that the partners weren't thrilled with Teagan going against their wishes where Neal had been concerned. They also knew that Ponder and Daniels were the eyes and ears, and as it turned out, hands, of the partners while they were stateside.

"I don't think so," Peter said, not sure but suspecting what he said was true. If he was wrong, Neal didn't need to know the truth anyway. "I think there had already been shift in management planned before they came. It was their end game to kill Teagan and leave you locked in the office with him for us to find."

"I hope so," Neal said quietly, "I don't want trying to save me to have gotten the man killed." The thought of that brought a deeply pained expression to his eyes.

"Poor life choices, Neal," Peter said with a sigh, "that is what got Teagan killed. It wasn't your fault." Peter paused, studying his troubled friend. "He was a dead man when they sent him here, but he did do a good thing at the end of his life; he saved yours."

"You saved me by sending me to prison and he saved me by hiring me to commit a crime," Neal said with a humorless smile, not missing the irony. "What is it about me that inspires so many rescuers?" His injury had impeded at least to some measure his ability to hide his feelings; there was self-doubt in his eyes.

"Well," Peter said, "He claimed to be an expert on Neal Caffrey, and since I share that claim, I think I can speak for both of us; you are worth saving, Neal."

A look of mild astonishment crossed his face, followed by gratitude. The blue eyes hastily looked away. Peter suspected Neal was embarrassed by how pleased that statement had made him feel. Peter saved him further emotional discomfort with his next statement:

"So, I read through some transcripts today," His voice was amused, the gleam in his eyes indicating a change of subject. This brought a look of relief to Neal's face. "About the Onity Locking Systems," he continued, "you have some extensive knowledge of something that is supposed to be, well, _secure_. How did you manage that? Con some poor employee?"

The best way Peter knew to stop Neal's self-doubt was to allow him to boast about his many talents. And his knowledge of the Onity Locking System certainly was one of them. One he, the Neal Caffrey expert, hadn't known about.

"I _was_ the poor employee," Neal said, brightening up with an obvious sense of pride "I went through the hiring process and everything," He shrugged. "I did six weeks of in-depth job training, too."

"Are you serious?"

"Entry level position, but I worked my way up quickly," he reported, "I had an uncanny knack at security programming. They called me a prodigy."

"Mad skills," Peter chuckled, "I am impressed. You actually had a real job."

Neal feigned a hurt look, "Don't be so surprised. Criminals and the FBI aren't the only one's who can benefit from my skills. My intelligence, winning personality and willingness to learn are sought after traits in the legitimate job market, too."

"The FBI is a legitimate job, Neal," Peter reminded. But Peter understood where Neal was coming from. He hadn't exactly interviewed for the job. Or had he? Peter wondered, remembering the moment that Neal identified the fiber on Peter's coat and asked Peter to visit him in prison a week later.

"So there is a legitimate work history out there in the real world for Neal Caffrey," Peter continued. "Who would have thought it? I looked, you know, and didn't find anything."

"I didn't exactly say I was Neal Caffrey at the time," Neal said ruefully, happy to have something to think about other than the past three days and the demise of Don Teagan.

"What exactly was your job description at Onity Systems?

"I helped out in several areas, including sales," he admitted, "but I ended up more in the field." His eyes danced with mischief and his smile was as bright as ever. "I provided discreet delivery and expert installation."

"Of course you did," Peter said with a smile, "I must say, when you need to be, you are nothing if not discreet."

"What can I say, mad skills."


End file.
